


i guess that's how the future's done.

by thequeenofokay



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenofokay/pseuds/thequeenofokay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He nods. ‘But we didn’t…?’</p><p>‘Didn’t what?’</p><p>‘You know.' He gives her an imploring sort of look, like he's hoping she'll just <em>get</em> it so he doesn't have to say it. He let's out a little sigh when she doesn't respond. 'Get married.’</p><p>// five times grant and jemma aren't actually married. one time they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i guess that's how the future's done.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marvel_marvel8154](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel_marvel8154/gifts).



> \+ for the prompt "biospecialist -- wedding day" which this like. isn't. but like i hope you like anyway! merry christmas!
> 
> \+ title from "mushaboom" by feist.

**one.**

 

Jemma’s not proud of the first time it happened. Not proud at all.

But she’s going to blame Coulson.

How he could honestly think that sending her, Ward, Skye, Fitz and Trip to Vegas would ever end well is honestly beyond her.

They’ve finished their mission by eleven in the morning, and Skye is the one to suggest they celebrate their success with a round of drinks.

‘Isn’t it a little early?’ Jemma asks.

‘I’m in,’ Fitz says. Maybe too enthusiastically. He gives the group a slightly sheepish look. ‘It’ll be fun.’

Trip shrugs. ‘What the hell. I’m game.’

Ward gives a shrug that they all take to mean he’s in. They look to her.

She sighs. ‘Fine. One round couldn’t hurt?’

One round doesn’t hurt.

The rest do.

 

 

Jemma wakes and wishes she hadn’t. She’s got a headache that might just kill her, and she thinks she’s going to throw up.

She lets out a little groan, stretching, keeping her eyes closed.

Her hand touches bare skin and she freezes. _Shit_. There’s someone else in the bed with her.

She opens her eyes slowly and crawls into an almost-sitting position, pulling the sheets around her. She’s not sure whether it would be worse if it was a total stranger or a teammate.

No, there’s no question. A teammate would be worse.

She peers over, trying not to wake the man sleeping beside her.

Shit.

It’s _Ward_.

And he’s just as naked as she is.

She’s about to try and slip away and hope he remembers nothing (her memories are coming back, and to say they’re _vivid_ would be an understatement) when he starts to wake up.

She pulls the sheets a little tighter around her.

He turns over, slowly, and sees her, still half asleep.  His eyes widen and he sits up, staying at her.

‘Did we…?’ he asks.

She nods. ‘I… yes. I would say so?’

He nods. ‘But we didn’t…?’

‘Didn’t what?’

‘You know.' He gives her an imploring sort of look,  like he's hoping she'll just _get_ it so he doesn't have to say it. He let's out a little sigh when she doesn't respond. 'Get married.’

‘Oh _bloody hell_. I hadn’t thought of that.’ There’s no ring on her finger or his, and she doesn’t remember getting married, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. ‘Help me look.’

A quick check of the room reveals nothing, so Jemma concludes that they probably never made it that far.

‘Well,’ she says, ‘in that case we should just go to breakfast and pretend this never--’

Skye bursts through the door without knocking. She doesn’t seem to surprised to see them both in the same room, wearing very little.

‘Skye!’ Jemma yelps.

‘How easy is it to get a divorce?’ she asks.

‘We didn’t get married,’ Jemma says indignantly. ‘Did we?’

Skye frowns. ‘I wasn’t talking about you two. I didn’t think you went through with it?’

‘We were planning to?’ Ward asks. He glances at Jemma like she’s going to throw something at him.

‘Yes,’ Skye says. Like it’s obvious. ‘But then you didn’t. And I thought it sounded like an _amazing_ idea.’

‘So you got married instead,’ Ward confirms. He doesn’t seem surprised, more as though he had been waiting for the day when Skye announced she’d gotten married in Vegas.

‘Yup.’ She grins at them, annoyingly chipper for someone who should be incredibly hungover. ‘Who do I need to hack to get rid of it?’

 

**two.**

 

Things have been a little awkward between them since they slept together in Vegas. (And did _not_ get married. They checked. Thoroughly.)

Swearing Skye to secrecy about the fact that it happened did no good at all -- everyone except Coulson seemed to know by the time they made it back to base.

Jemma’s been avoiding Ward ever since.

It’s not on _purpose_ , it just _happens_. And it’s better for everyone. Every time she sees him she has _thoughts_.

Not the kinds of thing you should think about a colleague.

You’re not supposed to think about your colleague eating you out, right?

They made an agreement, anyway, that they wouldn’t talk about it. Ever. It wasn’t really an agreement made with words, but more by the fact that they just didn’t mention it once they left the hotel room.

And he would mention it, if he wanted it.

Probably.

She thought they’d been discreet about it and not let it get in the way of their work, but then Coulson puts them on a mission together, citing that he’s notice they seem “a little tense lately”.

Jemma is expecting something simple, with Ward as her backup while she does something “sciency” (Coulson’s words -- god, she’s so underappreciated in this job).

She is not so lucky.

There’s a priest doing _something_ sinister and Coulson decides that the only way possible to investigate it is to have her and Ward get married. Obviously.

‘Are you sure this is the only way?’ she asks.

‘Positive,’ Coulson tells her. ‘We even have a dress for you.’

The dress is awful. It’s the standard issue undercover wedding dress, according to Coulson (which leads her to wonder just how many undercover weddings Shield operative perform -- has Ward done this before?), but it makes her look like a _meringue_.

She makes it halfway down the aisle before all hell breaks loose. Their cover is blown, there’s people shooting, and she’s hiding behind the alter with Ward.

He switches the clip in his gun. ‘Simmons,’ he starts. ‘Um. Jemma --’ He breaks off to duck out and shoot a couple of rounds, ‘-- I know things have been a little weird since --’

‘We slept together,’ she finishes for him, as he turns to shoot again.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘That. But I wanted to say that I --’

‘Hope we can be friends?’ she guesses. ‘Because I don’t want things to stay tense between us, and I think we should --’ She’s cut off by a shot hitting a little too close for comfort.

‘No,’ he says, and her face falls. ‘No, wait, I didn’t mean like that.’ A bullet hits the wall behind them. Dangerously near. She doesn’t want to die in this damn dress.

He kisses her.

‘Sorry,’ he says. He looks down, a little sheepishly. ‘It was taking too long to... explain.’

She breaks into a grin. ‘I think I can let you off,’ she says, and tugs him into another kiss. He’s got his hand in her hair and she’s trying to move onto his lap.

He draws away. ‘I need to…’ He nods towards the men shooting at them.

‘Right.’ She shuffles back. ‘Save the day.’

‘You look great, by the way,’ he says.

She wrinkles her nose. ‘ _Don’t_ ,’ she groans.

He grins, lifting his gun. ‘I mean it,’ he says.

 

**three.**

 

She couldn’t have left him for more than a _minute_ on the mission, and now he’s had himself shot and put in hospital.

She could have dealt with the wound herself easily, but now the hospital won’t even let him leave.

‘Look,’ she tells the nurse, ‘I’m trained -- I can take care of him. He’ll be safer with me.’

The nurse shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry ma’am,’ she says. ‘I can’t release him without the permission of his doctor or a family member.’

Jemma huffs a sigh and rubs her forehead in frustration. ‘Wait,’ she says, almost grabbing the nurse to stop her leaving. ‘Would his wife count as family?’

‘You can bring his wife here to have him released?’ the nurse asks.

‘Yes,’ Jemma says. ‘I’m his wife.’

The nurse raises an eyebrow. ‘You should have said.’ She pulls a few forms out. ‘I’ll just need you to sign, and he’s yours.’

Jemma goes to collect him from his room, where he’s waiting impatiently. ‘Finally,’ he says, standing up (and pretending not to wince).

She tries to look disapproving, but it’s hard when she is immediately checking his bandages in concern. ‘You have to stop getting shot all the time,’ she complains.

He shrugs, and winces again. ‘It’s kind of my job.’

‘You need to be more careful.’ She frowns at him. ‘I _worry_ about you.’

‘It’s cute.’ He kisses her quickly. ‘Can we get back out of here?’

She nods and helps him walk -- he seems to be fine for the most part, only leaning on her ever so slightly. ‘I had to tell them we were married,’ she says.

He coughs. She’s going to put it down to the trauma of the bullet wound. ‘Oh?’

‘They wouldn’t let me take you away otherwise,’ she says. ‘I was going to have to smuggle you out the window.’

He laughs. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘I don’t think I could have taken another minute in that place. You know, you’re a much better doctor?’

She smiles. ‘That’s sweet of you,’ she says. ‘But I think you might be biased.’

‘Possibly,’ he says, shrugging.

 

**four.**

 

They visit her parents for Christmas. They’ve been together long enough that meeting the parents is long overdue, but the Atlantic has always got in the way a little.

She takes him round her village on Christmas Eve.  It’s not going to be a white Christmas, but it’s cold enough that they’re both bundled up in layers of coats and scarves. ‘So this is where you grew up?’ he asks.

She leans against his arm. ‘The very same,’ she says. ‘I worked there. And my primary school was just down there.’

‘It’s cute,’ he says. He kisses her forehead. She feels a little nostalgic coming back. She’d missed it more than she realised.

(She can’t imagine living her again, or settling down here, or settling down full stop. But it makes her want to want it. If that makes any sense.)

‘Jemma!’ Jemma turns to find her high school friend running across the street at her. ‘It’s you! Oh god it’s been _ages_.’

Jemma is ambushed with a hug. ‘I know,’ she moans. ‘I never manage to make it back.’ She looks up at Grant. ‘This is Cara. We knew each other when we were younger. And this is Grant.’ She gestures up at her boyfriend. Maybe a little proudly.

‘Hi,’ he says. He holds out his hand to Cara. ‘Good to meet you.’

Cara shakes his hand and blinks up at him. ‘ _No_ ,’ she says, looking at Jemma. ‘You did _not_ marry an American.’

Grant looks a little taken aback, and a lot amused. Jemma makes a face. ‘We’re not married.’

Her friend raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m pretty sure.’

Cara shrugs. ‘Mkay. Because you remember Janey, right? See, it was her. She told me, and I quote, “Jemma is married to a guy like, a foot taller than her, and she didn’t even invite us to the wedding”.’

‘I’m not married,’ Jemma says again. ‘For a _start_ , I would have invited you.’

‘You could have been like, Vegas married?’ Cara points out.

Jemma blushes. ‘ _No_ ,’ she says. ‘We did not get married in Vegas.’

‘Wait. Are you sure? You’ve gone really pink.’

Jemma frowns, looks quickly at Grant (who is _laughing_ at her), and puts her hands on her cheeks. ‘I’m sure,’ she says.

Cara laughs. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I have to run. But make sure to invite me when you _do_ marry him, right?’

(They stop in a cafe, and the old lady who has worked there since Jemma was just a girl exclaims “Jemma, you got married!” as soon as they step through the door.

It’s going to be a long week.)

 

**five.**

 

‘You know,’ Jemma says, ‘there’s no wait period in Kentucky for marriage.’

Grant looks at her across the motel bed. He doesn’t move to pause the romcom playing on the grainy TV. ‘Really?’ he asks.

‘I’m just _saying_. It seems the sensible thing to do.’ She glances had him, picking popcorn from the bowl between them. ‘We’re obviously going to get married. If we do it now we’ll be able to avoid a fuss.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Jemma Simmons, are you asking me to _elope_ with you?’

She lets out a little huff. ‘Don’t you _want_ to get married?’

He smiles. His hand goes to the back of her neck so he can pull her close and kiss her.

They break apart when the popcorn gets knocked over.

‘So you _do_ want to get married?’ she asks.

‘Do you?’ he asks. ‘I mean, do you _really_ want to get married _here_? Without our friends or your family?’

Jemma lies back against the (slightly lumpy) pillows and groans. ‘But it will be such an effort,’ she says. ‘There’s so much planning and organising and we don’t have the _time_.’

He lies back with her and laughs. His arm goes around her shoulders. ‘It can be whatever we want it to be,’ he says. ‘If you want to come back and get married in a tiny shitty town, we can.’

‘Hey,’ Jemma says. ‘I’m sure it’s a very nice town.’

‘It’s main industry is selling is poisoned candy.’

‘Was,’ she corrects him. ‘Was. We shut them down.’

‘Fine. We can come back here to get married here if you want,’ he concedes. ‘But only if we do it properly. With our family here.’

She sighs and curls more snugly into his side. ‘Good enough for me.’

 

**\+ one.**

 

They don’t go back to the town for their wedding.

Instead, they went back to her village, to the gardens behind the town hall.

Jemma smoothes her dress down. It’s elegant, understand, simple. And perfect. Obviously. Because she picked it. And this whole day is going to be _perfect_.

‘Are you _nervous_?’ Skye asks. She looks radiant, frankly, in her bridesmaids dress, and she’s got Jemma’s bouquet under one arm (roses mostly, because what can she say -- she’s classic).

Jemma laughs. Nervously. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Why would I be nervous?’

‘Because,’ Skye says, ‘this is the biggest day of your life?’

Jemma huffs. ‘That seems a little dramatic,’ she says.

‘You’re, like, declaring your love to the world and all?’

‘We’re signing bits of paper and I’m adding “Ward” onto my surname,’ Jemma says. ‘That’s it.’ She groans and leans back against the wall. ‘So why am I _nervous_?’

Skye grins. ‘You’re _excited_ ,’ she says. ‘And obviously, you want it to be amazing and exactly how she planned.’ She points a finger at Jemma. ‘Which I am telling you now, it won’t be. But that doesn’t matter. You know why?’

‘Because I love Grant and in the end it’s not about the day itself?’ Jemma tries.

‘I was gonna say because there’s an open bar. But that’ll do.’

Jemma rolls her eyes.

Bobbi pokes her head through the door. ‘Showtime,’ she says. ‘You ready?’

Jemma checks her hair one last time in the mirror. She definitely didn’t see Melinda May as the hairdresser type, but she had curled it and pinned it into a gorgeous updo.

‘You look wonderful,’ Bobbi assures her, ‘I promise. Now, come on.’

Jemma nods, takes a breath, and steps outside. Skye passes back her the bouquet as they round the hall towards the gardens. The seats on the grass are filled with their friends and family (her family, mostly), and they all stand as she, Skye and Bobbi approach.

She looks straight at Grant. He’s smiling so hard she wonders if it hurts, but then again, she’s probably smiling just as brightly.

 


End file.
